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Bruce Curley

poetslife@gmail.com

poetslife.blogspot.com

retained

Poetry pulled from the Four Poets Series submission.

a dream of love

we make love-----

and all

the pent-up power

within her

is unleashed

and I

am swept past

great cities

that came and went

armies that changed maps

and prophets

who threw out the call

until finally

crystalline figures

line the dwelling

and I

am totally in aweof her shape

and strength

I

who won herfrom her father

and brothers

in a fight

that almost

cost my life

I

who had

some part

in the children

who burst forth

from her

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8/4/2019 Four Poets Series

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I

who never

quite

comprehend her

even realize

that right now

she consumes me

she absorbs

my strength and life

and determine

what direction

they take

I follow her

deep into space

past galaxies

and years

to glimpse

beyond

life and thoughtour destiny

lived now

lived before

lived tomorrow

all as one

for this knowledge ------I follow.

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Of Your Earthen Body

This water gains power

and flows full,

increasing in pressureUntil it runs into

The forest.................., the dam..................

...............the massive dike.

The pressure builds ------------

And this life giving

water

pushes and slams

Seeks some final release

until it can no longer

be contained

inside.

And nature demands

her satisfaction

and pulls the waves

with a full-bodied moonThat y..a..n..k..s the water

through

the vacuum.

It is here life lives

here the soul dances

here evolution rules

Until, there is no quiet.

There is no peace.

There is only the answer,

"Because there is no other!"

To my eternal question, "WHY!"

"AAAAAUUUAAAGHGHGHGHGHG!!!"

I scream in surrender

As the seed-bearing water

overflows the dam,

enters the fertilevalley,

And embeds silently

In the reservoir

Of your earthen body.

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The Day After

I awaken......

.....in vague stirrings....

...of dreams...

Was there......

.......who handled me clean?

In the nights remembrance....

.....sounds of streams....

My strength was dismantled.......

.....beam....by....beam.

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Eamons Poem

Kicking your mother

from inside the liquid universe of the womb...

I feel so crippled and broken when considering

I have so much to teach you

and only the remaining lifetime to do so.

It is hopeless, really, except these two gems

that came down from a long, long line

of men and women who survived centuries of Vikings

whose barbarity was only surpassed

by the neighbor invader who considered genocide

by the rule of law such a jolly good adventure

and stole all the food in the very middle

of the famine of all famines.

Through it all, your ancestors survived

tenaciously creative and green as mosson the back of a stone on the gentle Shannon river

and these two gems skip across that great river

to the Delaware where once, when wondering

of ancestral roots I asked my father,"Dad, what is it to be American?"

"Work!" "What?" I asked.

"Work!" he repeated. "Your grandfather worked.

I worked. You'll work." "That's all?"

"That's all." he answered.

"Then what is it to be Irish?""Hilarity!" He didn't skip a beat again.

"Hilarity!" You gotta make 'em laugh!"

So there it is, Eamon Patrick.

If God takes me before I get to teach you

all you need to know, let these two words suffice:

work and hilarity.

Work and hilarity saved your people

over centuries of warfare, pestilence, invasion,

slavery, defeat, and famine and eventually defeated

the greatest power on earth so I could write you this poem.

Work and hilarity can carry you to the universe

and to other planets and when you find

a particularly hard planet, name it "Work"

and when you find an especially funny planet,

name it "Hilarity."

No matter what the planet or year,

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work and hilarity are in your genes

as am I, and all of my dreams.

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My True Home

Just

this morningI awoke

so in love with you

that inside

a cloud BURST

balloon-like

to lift me high above

the city lights

over highways

and country roads

to an oak cabin

in the woods

where by a fireof apple and peach tree

I laid my head

against your lap

and found theremy true home.

8/4/2019 Four Poets Series

8/21

The Life Cycle

A small boy

is carried

from a car

asleep.

His father,

tenderly,

transports the child

from car to house.

Years later,

when the boy

carried the father

gently to the grave,

and remembered

powerful arms,

carrying

him once,

from somewhere,

to somewhere,the life cycle --

was complete.

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Words Never Die

When they ask you at school,

"And what does your father do?"

Tell them he is a craftsman,

A craftsman of fine words.

A craftsman in the Medieval sense.

A man who takes pride in sculpting

Completed poems out of a vast quarry

Of known but inartistically used language.

And when they say,"But isn't that a rather unproductive

And silly occupation for a full grown man?"

Say to them back:

"No. His words may survive intact,

While your father's money is spent,

And your father's property is divided,

And your father's corporation is absorbed,

And your father's wife grows old and dies.

But words cannot be spent, divided, absorbed or die.

Words never die; only the people who poorly use them."

8/4/2019 Four Poets Series

11/21

Mid-Night Milk Run

Ladies,

Beware

of mentoo willing

to go

for a gallon

of milk at night.

Such time

allows

copious

amounts of time

to hand the bookie

or the dope dealer

or the other womanor any number

of temptations

family money

or the pathto your

mans heart.

So when he returns

with that gallon of milk

always check it twice:

Once to make sure

all the creamhasnt been skimmed

from the top;

And once to make

absolutely sure

both he and the milk

are still pure and white.

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The Last Rose

The last rose of the season

remains uncut on the rose bush

in the unnoticed corner of the yard

by the crumbling yellow pine fence.

I could, it is true, cut it

and bring it to you, as before;

Or simply snip it and place it

in the Waterford vase in the kitchen...

but it is the end of the season.

This ruined Fall could soon be Winter.

The days with no talk could be weeks

Until the weeks are years, and divorce.

No, that rose will remain where it is.When it dies, its stem attaches to roots

That are strong in minerals, dirt, water.

And Spring has so much renewal to give.

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forces women control men's lives by

there are forces

that erupt,

tear apart,spill out,

emerge,

and reerupt,

in vast spaces.....

vast spaces

of no entrance

or exit

vast interior spaces

surrounded

by no exteriors

souls

within bodies

within soulswithin bodies

spaces

that exist

within

larger

than galaxies

unexplored

spaces to be entered

hauntingly,

cautiously,

for fear

of no return

spaces

where life

determines life

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within these places

there are forces

quite unknowable

whose only

manifestation

is a woman's lovethe birth of a child

forces men

can touch

but never

realize

forces women

control

men's lives by

which menas many times ask

will never

know

why

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The Comedians Choice

Two Comedians pummeled an audience with jokes.

They jabbed at their collective neurosis.

Swung wildly at their latent fears.

Then kicked them right in their lifestyles.

After the round was over,

The comedians returned to a corner table

Filled with beautiful women and booze

And sat there nervously trying to calm their anxiety.

Sitting there,

With a choice between the women, the anxiety and the booze,Both men raised their fists to sup their glasses dry,

Ordered doubles, and tapped their feet nervously.

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Reflections on New Surroundings

Pigeons watch from above

an L-shaped streetlight

the afternoon procession

of afterwork urban manandwoman

home to loved ones, television,

dinner, outside interests or no one.

Old gray bearded wino

with rayon purple scarf on neck

perched in front of TEMPLE BEVERAGES

featuring LIQUOR, PEPSI AND CIGARETTES

(contraband up from the tobacco fieldsof red clay Piedmont South).

Down 17th Street ONE WAY

drive white orange black Capital Cabsblue and white with red roof

sirened 96 CAPITAL POLICE cars

AIRPORT SERVICE GREYHOUND BUS

all knowing LEFT LANE MUST TURN LEFT.

Along the sidewalk a young Iranian student

newly arrived to the Land of Opportunity

tries not to look so foreignby wearing clothes he bought

in American Made in Taiwan.

At Saint Matthew's Cathedral

Sanctus Matthaus gold and red tiled

on the front holding Bible saying,

"THE BIBLE OF SAINT MATTHEW"

while below him entering and leaving

church goers look forward past

old crippled beggar

with black ski cap for spare change

in hand and wooden crutch by side.

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Highway Poem for Colleen

I

I crash down Highway 98

Shouting your name

Screaming your praisesRemembering other highways.....

76 Schuylkill Expressway swift

Liberty Bell love long cast

Philadelphia Art Museum strong

Wissahickon Creek Green Valley winding

Delaware River Deep

Billy Penn Principled

St. Peter's and Paul's blessed.

I look over to see.....Your face laughing

Your face puzzledYour face angelic

Your face enveloping

My soul

until your handReached across the distance

to take my hand between

Until your hand

Became life itself for me

an anchor in an anonymous

And frightening urban sea.

Where your hand

Provided a warm and loving homeAfter cruel, unrelenting city storms.

II

78 Florida fun funny

Gray and pink racing porpoises

Discovering Corinthians wisdom

While exceeding the legal limit

Kaleidoscope of car colors

Exploding in an orange sun

Blue-skyed canvas of cars

Cars more numerous than sand.

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I looked over to see.....Your face perturbed

Your face petulant

Your face pedantic

Your face prism

Reflecting my soul

Surprised at its power

To love........To hurtTo run.......To return

To take.......To give

To break......To survive.

When your head rested

Flush with sleep and dreams

On my lap as I drove

I would have fought the whole world

Before anyone would have harmed you.

III

95 Kennedy Space Center potential

Rockets of love launched

Booster rockets in reserve

Space station steadyStars as loves highlights

Suns burning at night

Whole universes to be explored

Worlds over years to spin lore.

I looked over to see.......Your face bright

Your face light

Your face confusedYour face eternal

Absorbing my soul

So that when I said

I might walk away

And you cried softly

In truth as well could I

Ignore gravity

Walk from my family

Walk from God's love

Walk from Heaven's Angels.

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IV

84 Deep South Bible Backbone

Tiny Bible churches of conviction

The Word is The Word is The Word

Trees so big they wore clouds

Sun so brilliant it blindedCountry stores of country caring

Country ways of country sharing

Clay and grace, earth, and rebirth.

The cycle of nature ever present.

I looked over to see.......Your face absent

Your face somewhere

Your face memory

Your face paining

straining my soul

I drove but in a daze

Half expecting you to appearAt each country gas station

Or store

But there were only

Shadows of youThat disappeared

And reappeared in mists

and midnight forest

Until finally......

I

I crash down Highway 98

Shouting your name

Singing your praises

Remembering other highways.....

Remembering there are

Miles of highway

In this land alone

Yet to be explored.

Over the miles of telephone line

I hear your voice.

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Over galaxies of futures......

I promise to crash down

Shouting your name

Screaming your praises

Remembering other highways......

Each old star a memory bought

Each new star a memory sought

For you......for you.....for you.....

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Poetry Work Ethic

...Then theres the poetry work ethicDifferent from any other work ethic

because it derives from hidden places

and screams,You write down this poem NOW!!!

Write the poem down...

despite the baby screaming to be changed,

for food, for a bottle, for attention

Write the poem down...

despite the stabbing back pain

that cleaves the bodyinto two separate bodies

each separate but greater as two

Write the poem NOW...

despite the boss over the shoulder

always asking, I hope thats our work

your doing on on our nickel?

yet unwilling to accpet the answer,Yes! The work of God.Yes! The work of the Muse.

Yes!..The work of ages...

Write the poem NOW!!!

Despite the impediments of family

body, and the day time job

if it is to last into the next milleneaum

or even the next hour.